


Exsanguinate

by owlish_peacock



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:05:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlish_peacock/pseuds/owlish_peacock
Summary: Exsanguinate: to drain of bloodNo one ever asked for his name anymore. They gave him a wide berth, avoiding him at all costs. Whispers of rumors filled his ears, closer to the truth than they realized.Monster. Incubus. Strigoi. Upyr.No. His name was Jamie.





	1. Prologue

He had been called many names throughout his life. In Scotland, he was a  _ gabhail fuil.  _ In France,  _ buveur de vie.  _ Fanciful words that romanticized the demon within him.

There were other names, as well. Simpler names. Devil. Leech. Murderer. Undead.

He wasn’t too fond of those terms either, but at least they shot straight to the heart of the matter.

No, he preferred something else. A nickname echoing from lost memories of another life. Strong arms grasping him tightly, his father’s hands circling his cheeks, blurred faces of a family long gone.

_ Jamie. _

No one ever asked for his name anymore. They gave him a wide berth, avoiding him at all costs. Whispers of rumors filled his ears, closer to the truth than they realized.

Monster. Incubus.  _ Strigoi. Upyr.  _

No. His name was Jamie.


	2. Chapter 1: The Change

**A.D**.  **1347**

The world was dark. The stars shone dimly through the trees, little sparks of light between the ragged leaves. Searching for some familiarity, Jamie Fraser’s hands raked the soft ground beneath him, feeling nothing but the damp grass of a forest floor. Strange. He didn’t remember leaving his home.

He stood quickly, the blood rushing from his head. He was dizzy, unsteady. His veins felt hot beneath the skin, itchy and uncomfortable. Perhaps he was sick. Word from the villagers described a illness plaguing the people, jumping from town to town. Shaking, Jamie braced his hands against a tree.

Word also said there wasn’t a cure. Death was inevitable for the sick.

His stomach groaned in protest, its contents spilling into the bushes beside him.

The world darkened again as Jamie’s large body collapsed.

***

_Drink._

The voice floated through Jamie’s mind, fluttering around his ears like wings.

_Open._

He did as he was told. He would do anything for the voice.

Warm liquid poured into his mouth, thick and salty, staining his teeth.

_Swallow._

The liquid slid down his throat, quenching the dryness within. God, he was so thirsty.

He found enough strength to open his eyes, peering into moonlit irises.

_Be safe, young one. The world has been cruel to you._

The blackness surrounded him once more, becoming his ever constant companion.

***

He awoke, completely alone, the dark sky pressing heavily upon him. Strength coursed through him, the sickness he had completely dissipating. Buzzing filled his ears, like bees rattling within his brain. If he concentrated enough, he could distinguish specific sounds: the fluttering heartbeat of a rabbit, hoof beats of a large red stag, the snuffling of wolves.

Sounds he shouldn’t be hearing.

Jamie stood up, inhaling deeply to gather himself. His sense were assaulted, the tang of the forest flooding his nose. Dewed grass. Bitter mud. The petrichor of impending rain.

The salt of a wildcat.

The last smell caught his attention, burning his throat.  His feet moved before his brain could comprehend. Deep greens blurred past him; his mind only focused on one thing.

_Food._

His hunger spurred him faster, his legs sprinting at an alarming speed that would be concerning in any other circumstance. At the moment, though, he didn’t care. He was distracted.

_Food._

The forest cleared, and smell grew overwhelming. Jamie stopped short of the animal, large and handsome upon a rock. A warning hiss escaped its deadly teeth, but it did not frighten Jamie; he hissed in return, a surprising sound that did not stop him.

A step, a leap, and the animal was pinned beneath his sure hands. Grasping the throat, Jamie hovered above the feline.

His teeth broke the skin, and the blood rushed into his mouth.

Salty. Thick.

Satisfying. It soothed the burn in his throat and the ache in his stomach.

The animal was drained in seconds, and as the blood stopped flowing, Jamie’s senses came rushing back. Bloody face. Bloody hands.

_What is happening to me?_


	3. Chapter 2: The Witch’s Cure

Jamie’s body was numb. He couldn’t feel the icy water as he violently scrubbed the blood from his skin. Pale crimson droplets dissipated within the gentle stream, but Jamie couldn’t erase them from his memories. 

_ What is happening to me? _

The question never left his mind; it repeated over and over until the words lost their meaning.

_ What is happening to me? _

Pulling his shirt off, Jamie began to wash the red stains from the worn linen. His mind raced as his hands worked methodically.

_ What is happening to me? _

He cupped a handful of water, pouring it down his torso. His hands rubbed against his chest, coaxing the blood from the hairs there.

_ What is that? _

His fingers found a raised scar on the skin above his heart. That was new. He traced the mark: two crescents silver in dim light. 

“I dinna believe it.”

The voice came from across the steam, startling Jamie. He thought he was alone. 

“Pardon?”

She walked into a shaft of moonlight, illuminating her long, pale hair. “I’ve read about yer kind before, but I dinna believe ye were real.”

She moved closer; Jamie moved backward. Her eyes shone like emeralds, and stared into Jamie’s soul. Physically, she was a lovely woman, but she cast a frightening figure.

“My kind?”

“Aye. A  _ gabhail fuil.” _

“Blood taker?”

“Mmhmm. A  _ vampyr.” _

Vampires were legends, stories to scare children.  _ Dinna stray too far from home, or the gabhail fuil will eat ye. _

“Vampires dinna exist.”

“There are many things we think dinna exist, but do.” Kirtling her skirt, she waded through the shallow stream until she knelt before him. Jamie’s nose twitched; she smelled of sap and dead leaves. “Our beliefs dinna change the truth.”

He decided to humor the woman I hopes she would leave him be. “And how do you know I’m a vampire?” 

“Your scar.” Her long pale fingernails scratched the mark, causing Jamie to shiver uncomfortably. “A Devil’s Mark.”

“Dinna touch me.”

Her hand retreated, but her eyes never strayed from his. “Ahh, ye truly didna know, then. Yer a new  _ vampyr.” _

“I’m no vampire.”

“As ye say. Let me ask ye, are ye experiencing heightened senses? Burning throat? Have ye killed yer first meal? I’m guessing that blood is no yer own.”

“What do ye want from me?”

“Just a glimpse of ye. Yer a fairytale come to life.”

“Ye’ve seen me. Now leave.”

“Fine.” Wading back through the stream, she exited from where she came. She paused by the large oak, glancing at him from behind her shoulder. “But I’m the only person that can help ye. Ye ken where to find me.”

She disappeared, as if she were never there. Jamie was trembling from the encounter, unable to shake the stranger’s words from his mind.

Vampires weren’t real, so how could he be one? But, how else would she know about him: the hunger and the blood? 

And, how could she help him? Could she… change him back?

_ Ye ken where to find me. _

He didn't know for certain, but he had a fairly good idea.

***

Jamie had always heard about the witch in the woods. Like vampires, she was a tale, a story to frighten children into doing their chores. Of course, as he grew older, he realized the witch was just that: a story.

At least, that’s what he thought.

The tales always described a cottage nestled between two large birch trees, with gray stones and a thatched roof.

Exactly like the cottage that stood before him. He debated silently to himself; what was he doing?

He didn’t have much time to think before the door opened, and the stranger—the witch—stepped through.

“That didna take ye long. Come in.”

“Ye said ye could help me.”

“Perhaps. Come in,” she repeated.

He did as he was bid; it wouldn’t be smart to say  _ no  _ to a witch.

The cottage was small, all corners lit with drooping candles. Herbs hung from the ceiling, and unknown liquids filled jars upon shelves. A tiny cot was perched in the right corner, a long table in the left. Jamie fell into a wooden chair by the fire.

“Can I get ye anything? Tea? Ale?”

“No, thank ye.”

“That’s right. I imagine yer full.” She motioned to his now dry shirt, still tinged pink from blood.

“This is no a social visit. Ye said ye could help me.”

“So ye believe me, then?”

“I… dinna ken. But yer witch. If anyone knows the truth, it’s you.”

She chuckled, a low, menacing sound. “And how do ye ken I’m a witch?”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“So ye believe in witches, but no in  _ vampyrs? _ ”

“Can ye help me, or no?”

“Maybe. But I’ll need something in return.”

“Of course ye do. What?”

A fingernail caressed him from chin to collarbone. “Some of yer blood.”

He slapped her hand from his body. “Why?”

“Ye said it yerself: I’m a witch. And  _ vampyr _ blood could be verra useful to me.”

Jamie didn’t want to help this witch; she didn’t seem trustworthy. But his selfishness won out in the end.

“Fine. Do what ye must.”

“Good.” She pulled a knife from her belt, and quickly slit his forearm. “Wait there.” 

She grabbed an empty jar from her shelf, and placed it beneath the cut. Jamie clenched his fist to push the blood out faster. Satisfied with the amount, the witch closed the jar, and replaced it.

“Here’s what I know,  _ vampyr _ . The only cure for vampirism I’ve heard involves killing yer sire, and draining his blood.”

“Sire?”

“The  _ vampyr  _ that created ye.”

“But, I dinna ken who created me!”

“That doesna concern me. I’ve told ye what ye wanted.”

“But, that doesna help me.”’Jamie felt his anger bubble to the surface. He stood quickly, pushing the chair away. The wood splintered as it hit the floor. Nostrils flaring, the smells in the cottage assaulted his nose: lavender, animal bones, and—the most appealing—fear. Fear radiated from the witch, her grassy eyes wide. “Ye said ye could help me!”

“I think ye better leave,  _ vampyr _ , before ye do something ye regret.”

He stalked closed, pushing the witch into the corner of the cottage. “Ye think I’d regret killing ye? No, ye dinna ken me at all.”

“Leave, now!” He felt the witch’s power, trying to shove him towards the door. 

But he was stronger. Quick, like a snake, his teeth cut through her skin, blood rushing into his mouth. It was so much sweeter than the wildcat’s blood, and much more satisfying. Her screams grew fainter the more he drank, until she was empty. Dropping her limp body to the floor, he left the cottage in a bloody disarray.

He couldn’t deny his true self now. Vampire he was. And vampire he would always be.


	4. Chapter 3: Vampires of Paris

**A.D. 1747**

In his 400 years of life, Jamie had learned quite a few things. He taught himself to speak Spanish and French. He read about the plague that had killed his family a year after his transformation (Bubonic, they called it). He could even perform a few dances, should the need arise.

However, one thing that he would always carry with him was this: War was hell.

He lost track of the battles he fought, of the wars won and lost. It became a myriad of blood and death stained upon his eyelids. He didn’t wish to relive those moments.

So, he fled his homeland two years prior, escaping the doom that would befall his people. He found himself in Paris two months ago, selling wine to aristocrats and charming beautiful nobility. His heightened senses gave him the ability to taste and smell every note within the drink, which persuaded many a customer.

“ _This is one of my favorites, you see_.” Jamie held the burgundy bottle aloft, speaking softly in flawless French. “ _It’s an incredibly sweet, fruity wine. I recommend it to anyone and everyone.”_

The couple before him exchanged looks before the pinched face wife whined, _“I do not like fruit.”_

Jamie wanted to throttle her and scream, Wine is made from grapes! But, he merely grinned, and held his irritation in place.  _“Well, how about this?”_  He chose a lighter bottle, glinting pure red in the sun.  _“This has floral hints within it: lavender and honey.”_

 _“That sounds lovely,”_  the man interrupted before his wife could complain.  _“We’ll take it.”_

 _“Wonderful.”_  The bell above the door chimed, heralding another customer.  _“I’ll be right with you!”_  Exchanging currency and grasping their goods, the couple left with tight smiles and a,  _“Good day.”_

 _“Now,”_  Jamie turned toward the new patron. _“How may I he–”_

His body flew through the air, thudding gracelessly upon the wooden floorboards. A weight settled upon him, pinning him.

A woman. Her face curled in a snarl that belied the violet silks that draped her body. He knew her for what she was immediately.

A vampire. Just like him.

The first vampire he had ever met. In all his centuries of life, his own kind seemed to evade him. He had given up on meeting another vampire, never expecting to find one. And in his winery, no less.

“Who are you?” She spoke harshly, dropping any pretense of French. Her sunlit eyes shone with suspicion and anger.

“My name is James.”

Her fingers gripped his throat, surprising strength in her petite form. Of course she was strong; she was a vampire.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m…” He choked through the pressure on his larynx. “I’m selling wine.”

Her grip loosened a bit, but she did not let him go. “No vampire simply sells wine. Who sent you?”

“Sent me?”

“Do not play dumb. I have no issues ripping your heart out.”

“I… No one sent me. Can ye take yer hands off my throat?”

“No.”

He struggled, pushing his hands against her, wriggling beneath her. She was more powerful than he was, her body undisturbed by his efforts.

“Who. Sent. You?”

“No. One.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ye dinna have to. But it’s the truth. Let me go!”

She did not, of course. One hand remained wrapped around his throat, the other gathered his wrists above his head, pressing painfully.

“No. I’ll not let you go. You’re coming with me.”

Her fists came down heavily upon his head, and darkness engulfed him.

***

“Claire, did you really have to hit him so hard?” The voice of a man penetrated his unconsciousness.

“He was uncooperative. Was I to just let him go?” The female vampire spoke next, soft and coaxing.

“No, she’s right, John. We can never be too careful.” A third voice entered the conversation, cadenced with a slight French accent.

“Fine. But you two will have to explain all this to Father.”

“He’ll understand.”

“If you say so.”

Jamie decided to make his consciousness known then. Opening his eyes, he was assaulted by the bright firelight in the corner of the room. He was lying on a chaise in someone’s apartment, it seemed. The walls were covered in green and blue tapestries, and the furniture was sparse but decadent, gilded in gold and filigree. It was a luxurious room, and Jamie guessed the owner was fairly wealthy. He didn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, as three figures entered his field of vision.

The middle figure was familiar: the female vampire. She was attractive and pale, her dark hair piled on top of her head. Flanking her were two males. Also vampires. The man on the right was tall and thin, his face aristocratic and his light hair queued with a ribbon. The other man was a shorter than the other, his face cherubic, and his brunet curls loose.

“Who are ye?”

“We should be asking you the same question.” The woman spoke, but with less malice than before. The blond nudged her gently, before approaching Jamie where he sat.

“My name is John, and these are my siblings. Claire and Fergus.”

“Jamie. Where am I?”

“You’re in our home. My dear sister knocked you down, and drug you here.”

“Yes, I remember.” Jamie glared at the curly haired woman, but she merely grinned in response.

“A precaution,” she interrupted. “We don’t trust others outside of our family.”

“Ye mean other vampires.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“But… if ye dinna trust me, why am I in yer home?”

“We have… ways to know for certain your intentions. Fergus?”  
The dark haired man emerged from the shadows. John and Claire circled Jamie until they ended on either side, gripping his arms tightly. Holding him down.

“What are ye–” He struggled as the other man–Fergus–came closer, their faced inches apart.

_“Je suis désolé.”_

Jamie felt soft lips press against his neck, before the sharp bite of teeth penetrated the flesh.

“Agh!” He cried in pain as the French vampire drank deeply from him. He thrashed against the hands holding him as they whispered comfort in his ear.

“It’s alright.”

“Struggling will only make it hurt worse.”

“Just breathe.”

Blood was quickly leaving his body, and, for the second time that day, Jamie went under.

***

“That’s enough, Fergus.” The eldest vampire admonished his young brother, whose mouth was still latched upon the Scot’s throat. “What did you see?”

All three vampires stepped away from the stranger, as he slumped heavily against the sofa.

Fergus wiped his mouth before speaking. “He’s about 400 years old. A warrior, but only in human wars. We’re the first vampires he’s met.”

The other two paused, shocked. “Are you sure?” John asked. “And his sire?”

“He never met his sire. He awoke alone after the change.”

“How did he survive without guidance?”

“He got help. He didn’t see them, but he heard their voice. They gave him blood.”

Claire slumped the floor. “Christ…”

“What is it,  _sœur?_ ” The brothers knelt next to their sister.

“I think… I think that was me…”

“What do mean?”

“I think I’m the one that helped him. If he’s 400 years old, and Scottish… The timing is right. And he does look familiar, but he was so dirty and covered in blood that night…”

“And there was no one else around?” 

“Not that I could tell. And the scent was unfamiliar.”

“You did the right thing, Claire,” John consoled. “No one deserves that death.”

“It’s not that. I just feel so… stupid for not recognizing him. I save his life one century, and bash his head in another.” She grinned. “Do we trust him, then?”

All three turned toward the large redhead sprawled on the sofa. “The question is,  _frère et soeur_ , will he trust us?”

John shrugged, but Claire was the one to speak up.

“He’s got no one else.”


	5. Chapter 4: War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one!

Quite frankly, Jamie was getting rather tired of falling into unconsciousness. Thankfully, though, he awoke in a place somewhat familiar. Overly decorated and garishly lovely, his surroundings remained unchanged. He was still lying on the sofa of the Paris vampires’ apartment.

Small favors, he supposed.

His body felt heavy and immobile. His movements were sluggish as he sat up to face the other vampires.

The trio still surrounded Jamie, but he found them less guarded than before. The two brunets–Claire and Fergus, he remembered–perched on chairs across from him, while the other–John–stared into the fire.

“How are you feeling?” Fergus asked, true concern coloring his voice.

“What the hell did ye do to me?” Jamie reached toward the place where the young vampire had bit him, but he found his neck free of marks and blood. “What–”

“Fergus is… talented.” Claire answered. “He has the ability to see memories and thoughts through blood.”

“How wonderful.” The remark was half-sarcastic, half-impressed. Jamie wasn’t too keen on some stranger knowing everything on his mind, but he couldn’t hide the astonishment at such a gift. “And what did ye find?”

“That you speak truly,  _mon amie_.”

“I am no yer friend.” If it weren’t for the weightiness he felt in his limbs, Jamie would have bolted immediately.

“Come now. We are not your enemies.” Claire spoke, soft and coaxing.

“Really? If I recall, friends dinna rip out friend’s throats.”

“You were never in danger. We would not kill you, unless you posed a threat.”

“Pardon me if I dinna believe everything ye say, Mistress.”

“Enough!” John interrupted their arguing, stalking in between the two to discourage any more discourse. “Here.” He gently pushed a chalice into Jamie’s hand, the deep red liquid sloshing in the glass. Blood. Animal blood. Prey animal, it seemed as Jamie inhaled deeply. Rabbit, or possibly squirrel. “You’ll need your strength back.”

Greedily, he emptied the cup, momentarily forgetting his frustration and annoyance at the vampires before him.

“Thank ye.”

“It’s no trouble.”

Jamie flexed his limbs experimentally, immediately feeling the effects of fresh blood through his body. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me…”

“Wait.” A hand flexed on Jamie’s shoulder, pushing him back to sit. The English vampire hovered above him, pleading in his blue eyes “Just… wait.”

“And why would I do that?” Shrugging the hand off his shoulder, Jamie made to stand again. Even unsteady on his feet, he still towered over John.

“Because…”

Claire interrupted before John could finish.“Because we may need you.”

“Need me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well…” Her curls whipped from side to side as she glanced at both of her brothers. A nod from John, and a shrug from Fergus was all she needed. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “There’s a war coming. A vampire war. It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow. But it’s coming. And it’s coming for us. We can’t fight it on our own. We need reinforcements. We need vampires we can trust. We need you.”

It was too much to take in. A war? No, Jamie had fought in way many wars; that’s why he was in Paris. He needed an escape from the bloodshed and hate. Flashes of memories long forgotten entered his mind:

The clang of metal swords, and the booming of pistols creating a deadly melody.

Fields turned red as bodies turned blue.

His friends, his neighbors… Gone…

“I can’t be involved in another man’s war.”

“If we do not win, then it won’t be another man’s war. It will become your war.”

“That doesna make sense… What is this war even about?”

Claire stood, determined to make Jamie see. “Come with me.”

And, with that, she exited the room in a swish of violet silk and chestnut curls. Jamie had half a mind to disregard her command, and go home. But the remaining vampires looked at him expectantly.

“You should go with her. She… She knows much more than we do.”

“About the war?”

“About everything.”

Curiosity eventually won out, and he followed her out the door.

God help him.


	6. Chapter 5: Tapestries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's learn some vampire history, shall we? ;)

Jamie found Claire waiting outside the door, patient and still as only vampires can be. Without the fierceness and distrust in her eyes, he could truly see her face as it was. Fair and soft, she was quite beautiful, with full lips and a pointed, freckled nose. But what was most captivating were her eyes. They were large and round, fringed with dark lashes. The color of them was strange, and somehow familiar. A whisky color that reminded him of home.

“I know you don’t trust me, but will you come with me?” She held out a hand, her thick pearl bracelet clicking with the movement.

No words were spoken, but Jamie gently placed his hand in hers, her thin bones belying the steel strength beneath.

“Lead the way.”

***

Myths about vampires had become increasingly more ridiculous ever since Vlad the Impaler’s cruelty:

Sensitivity to sunlight (false).

Allergic to garlic (false).

Unreflected in mirrors (false).

Alarmingly large cuspids (false).

But as Jamie was led through the bowels of the Parisian home, he began to wonder if maybe some myths were true. Were they hiding coffins? Did they drain bodies upside down in the cellar? Jamie wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

As they approached the bottom of the staircase, a single door stood, only visible by the two sconces that guarded it.

“How much do you know of our history? Vampire history?” The walk down had been silent, so Claire’s voice was startling.

“Oh, umm, verra little. If any.”

“I thought so. Fergus, well, he saw that you woke alone when you were changed. I suppose you’ve never had anyone teach you.”

“Nay.”

“Well.” A small smile graced her face, shadowed by the lacking candlelight. “It’s never too late to learn. In here.”

She pushed the door open, and it creaked with disuse, an assault on the ears.

“Come.” Claire pulled a candle from it’s sconce, and entered the room. Jamie followed close behind.

The room was dimly lit, and lavishly decorated, like the apartment above it. What set it apart, though, were the multitude of tapestries that covered the walls. Brilliant colors flashed against the neutral stone. Hand painted and intricately detailed, each tapestry told a story. A scene that conversed with images instead of words.

“A dhia…”

“This is our past, present, and future. All of us. We should start at the beginning.”

She began walking toward the tapestry suspended on the far corner. Again, Jamie followed.

“This is where we all come from.” Claire carefully thrust the candle closer the image, shedding light on the scene.

Five humans were centered on the fabric—three males, two females. They were surrounded by hundreds of other figures, cloaked in black. Red paint was splattered upon the scene before him, marring its beauty. Blood. It was haunting. An image not soon forgotten.

“What is this?”

“The first five vampires. Every vampire is descended from one of them. This image here… this is their creation.”

“How?”

“Conjurers. They began… experimenting on corpses, trying to defy death. I suppose they were technically successful; their creations were immortal. What they didn’t expect, though, were the side effects.”

“Bloodlust?”

She made an affirmative noise in her throat. “Mmhmm. The five woke confused and hungry. They destroyed the entire coven within minutes of their rebirth.”

She motioned to the tapestry to the right. Similar to the first, the black-cloaked figures were now covered in crimson, lying prostrate beneath the five vampires.

“What does this have to do with yer war?”

“It was rumored that draining one of the originals would bring the drinker unspeakable power. No one has ever done it, though. And four of them are dead now, their blood feeding the earth. Only one remains.”

A pale finger pointed to the smallest vampire, an older man with white hair and deep, intelligent eyes.

“My father. Our father.” She motioned toward the ceiling, where Jamie could still hear the footsteps of the other vampire inhabitants. “This war… it will be about him.”

She crooked a finger, and made her way toward the opposite wall.

“And if we lose…” The next image she illuminated depicted the same small vampire, dead and blue. A shadowed form hovered above the corpse. There was no face, only blood where the face should be. Lightening surrounded the scene, emanating from the shadow’s fingertips.

“And if ye win?”

“Then life will be normal. Well, as normal as vampire lives can be.”

“And how do ye ken all this? I mean, who painted these?”

Claire looked a bit taken at his question. “Well… I did.”

“Ye… ye painted all these? They’re incredible.”

A sheepish smile crossed her face, cheeks pinkening. “Thank you.”

“How, though? How do ye ken these things?”

“Well, you know how Fergus can see memories in blood? I see things sometimes, too. Some things in the past, some in the future. I paint them as I see them. Otherwise, I won’t remember.”

Jamie wasn’t sure how to feel about that revelation. There was definitely something strange about these Paris vampires.

“We’re a bit… different, I know.”

He wondered briefly if she read minds as well.

“Father… He was a conjurer before his transformation; the only conjurer in the original five. There’s magic in his blood. So when he changed us… We inherited some of that magic.”

“And what about your other brother? John?”

“He’s highly empathetic. He can feel the emotions of others.”

“Oh.” It was all he could think of to say to that. “So, yer sure this war will happen?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve seen the war many times. The outcomes may change, but the war…” She moved again toward the tapestry above the fireplace. This was the largest one in the room, and the most chaotic. Bodies flew, blood poured, and Jamie could feel the battle within the image. So vivid and clear, he felt himself transported back to a field of war, until Claire interrupted his thoughts. “The war doesn’t change.”

“Christ…”

“Quite.”

“So, what is yer plan?”

“Fight. Fight the enemy when they come.”

“That’s no much of a plan…”

“It’s all we’ve got right now.”

Jamie turned toward her, hearing the worry in her voice. He saw it then. Beneath the confidence and assertion, true fear shone in her eyes. He wished to erase it.

“I’ll help ye.”

Ears perking, brows knitting, she asked, “Really?”

“Aye. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“I… I will.”

What did I just agree to?

“Do… do you have other questions? I suppose it is a lot to take in…”

“Nay, I dinna think so… Ye’ve overwhelmed be a bit,” he teased.

She laughed then, a deep bell-like sound that caused something to stir in Jamie’s stomach.

How lovely…

“I am curious, though…”

“Aye?”

“Where is your mark?”

Instinctively, Jamie’s hand flew up to his chest, rubbing the thick scar tissue above his heart.

“Ah… I want… That is… I hope I am not being too forward in asking… to possibly see it? It’s… Well, some sires have a distinctive mark. I’m wondering if I may recognize it…”

“Oh, umm…” Unbuttoning his top buttons, Jamie pulled the collar of his shirt to unveil the mark beneath.

“Oh, my…” A soft fingertip traced the mark, sending sparks of fire through his body. “Your sire was not very gentle with you.”

“I wouldna ken.”

At that, she reached for her wrist, pulling the thick bangle from it. Beneath it, her mark shimmered silver in the candlelight. It was similar in shape to his, but less mangled. A bite with care, if such a thing existed. Unconsciously, Jamie grasped her arm gently, covering the scar with his hand.

“Do ye… Do ye recognize it, then?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen a mark so… malicious. Created with so much hate…” She pressed her fingers to her lips, and then caressed his scar gently. The sparks became uncontrollable flames. Jamie reciprocated, bringing his lips to her wrist.

The slamming of a door brought him back to the present, and he jumped away from the beautiful vampire before him.

“Bonjour, mes petits!”

A small grin pulled Claire’s lips. “That’ll be Father. Come. You should meet him.”


	7. Chapter 6: The Patriarch

Jamie heard the soft mutterings of French before he entered the room. Two of the voices were familiar–Claire’s brothers. The third voice was… different. His voice was a soft rasp, speaking in strange intonations and lilts. Their father, he presumed.

“Aren’t you going in?” Claire’s voice penetrated through his focused eavesdropping.

“Will yer father be upset that I’m here?”

“Well, he already knows you’re here…” She tapped gently on her ear.

Right. Vampire hearing.

“I just mean… he doesna ken me. From what ye’ve told me, he has every right to be wary.”

“You’re right.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he could feel her soft warmth through his shirt. “But, he won’t be. Despite what has happened to him, and despite the worries that plague him, he remains eternally optimistic. Besides, he trusts us–my brothers and me. He trusts our judgement. So, don’t worry. Come on.”

She tugged gingerly on his shirt sleeve as she opened the door.

***

The trio of men stood facing each other, heads bowed together in secretive conversation. With the slam of the door, though, their heads snapped up simultaneously, eyes attentive on their intruders.

 _“Mon cher!”_  The stranger of the three broke away from the group, arms open wide towards Claire. He was incredibly small, his eyes level with his daughter’s chin. There was an oddness to his face. Disproportionate, with eyes too large and a mouth too wide. Ethereal, Jamie thought; the man didn’t look entirely human. But he held kindness within the deep wrinkles of his mouth. Jamie realized suddenly how accurate Claire’s portrayal of him was.

_“Bonjour, Papa!”_

They stood for a moment, forehead to forehead. Silently conversing, it seemed. He placed a gentle kiss on Claire’s cheek before breaking away.

 _“Et…”_  The patriarch came closer to Jamie. His forehead only reached Jamie’s chest, but the unwavering gaze made the red head feel much smaller.  _“Qui est ton ami, Claire?”_

“This is Jamie, Papa. Jamie, this is our father. Raymond le Puissant.”

 _Raymond the Powerful_. Jamie felt it, too. The odd aura that surrounded him was otherworldly, and ancient as the earth.

“Jamie… _Ravi de vous rencontrer_. Welcome to my home, child.”

“Thank ye, Monsieur.”

“Simply Raymond,   _s'il vous plaît_. I do not care much for formalities. They make me feel old.” The old man winked, the lines around his eye deepening.

“Well, thank ye, Raymond,” Jamie amended. “Tis a lovely home.”

“Indeed. I have had it for… oh, three centuries, at least. I fell in love at first sight, as they say.”

“Quite.”

“Now, have my three impolite children invited you for dinner yet?”

“Papa…” Jamie could hear the eye roll in Fergus’ voice

“Oh, no. I couldna possibly…”

“Nonsense! What is one more place setting?  Besides, you may be able to teach us a bit about our wine selection. I hear you’re quite the expert.”

_Where did he hear that?_

“Hardly, sir. Sorry. Raymond.”

“Well, we shall see about that! Dinner is in an hour. I’m sure my children will be happy to entertain you until then.  _Au revoir!”_

And with a flourish of silk coattails and the squeak of leather shoes, Raymond le Puissant disappeared as quickly as he appeared.

***

The five vampires sat around the large table, feasting on rare lamb meat and pure red wine.

“Tell me, James. What do you taste?”

Raymond had found immense enjoyment in testing Jamie’s tastebuds. Five different wines had already been brought out, and Jamie was encouraged to sip each one and describe the flavor. He hadn’t been wrong yet.

“Father,” John interrupted. “Are you not tired of this game? I’m sure Jamie would prefer to enjoy his wine.”

“Just one more, _mon fils._  Is that alright, James?”

“Aye, of course. I do enjoy my wine.” That earned a chuckle from his companions.

“I think you’ll find this wine especially enjoyable.” One white eyebrow quirked on the old face, mischief marking his features.

Jamie took a small taste, swirling the think liquid on his tongue. It was older, he could tell. A least a century, from the flavor of the grapes. Chocolate and raspberry tickled the back of his throat, a rich tang that he wished to savor in his mouth. And something else… A flavor he had never tasted in wine before, but was so mouthwateringly familiar…

“Is there blood in this wine?”

Raymond clapped his stocky hands together, eyes glistening. “Well done. It is my own secret recipe.”

“It isn’t much of a secret anymore, Papa,” murmured Claire.

Jamie took another pull from his glass, this one longer. “This is human blood, is it not?”

“ _Oui._  I used to have some… very generous benefactors. But that was ages ago, before I had to go into hiding. The blood keeps, though.”

“It’s incredible.”

“Indeed. I have found that–”

The crashing of silverware broke through Raymond’s musings. Claire’s wine glass had shattered on the tablecloth, spilling crimson liquid upon the pure lace surface. Forks clattered to the ground, bouncing on the wooden floor.

But, that wasn’t what caught Jamie’s attention.

Across from him, she sat, straight and still. Her eyes… Gone were the warm brown depths, replaced with icy white irises.

John was the first to move. “Christ! Fergus! Quill and parchment!”

But the young vampire had already disappeared in search of the objects. In seconds he returned, placing the quill in his sister’s hand, throwing the parchment before her.

“Draw, ma  _sœur._ What do you see?”

Her hands flashed over the paper, at a speed not even Jamie could follow. Every vampire was silent, the scratching of the quill echoing through the dining room.

They all watched as a picture appeared before them. Two men. One crouched behind the other, positioned to strike him by surprise

The other man–the unaware one–was undoubtedly Jamie.


End file.
